


Old friends

by Miss_L



Series: My favourite fictional character and me [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, a bit of angst, implicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:06:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_L/pseuds/Miss_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if one could have been friends with a certain D.I. Lestrade for almost all their life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyLestrade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLestrade/gifts).



> My friend, LadyLestrade, asked for a fic featuring herself and Lestrade, and I was happy to oblige. This is the result. Beware that it's a specific reader-insertion, but can be read as Lestrade/OFC.

Your hand ruffles the hair in the nape of his neck softly. You don’t remember giving your extremity that command, but the pepper-and-salt mop is hard to resist. He smiles at you tiredly, then rubs his face in that way... You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding band, and frown.

‘What happened to your wedding ring?’ you ask casually, worry creeping up your spine. 

You’ve not seen each other for a year, but surely... He looks at his hand in confusion, and for a second, you believe he’s just forgot to put it on. Then his face sags. The man sitting next to you on the couch is quiet for a minute, then he sighs and puts his head in his hands.

‘The divorce has been finalised last month.’

It seems like your heart is sinking into your stomach, and you’re not sure how to feel, or what to say next. She wasn’t the best of wives – understatement, really – but she was exactly what he _needed._

‘Greg...’ you begin hesitantly. 

He sits up straight again and forces a smile for your sake. Always the brave soldier. You’ve helped him through some heartbreak in the past; he’s done the same for you, but... that was so long ago. When you were both young and believed the world to be at your feet. And here you are now, two middle-aged people who’ve done quite well for themselves, all things considering. Even the Holmes-debacle and now the divorce seem not to have set him back that much... But where did life go? You ponder this whilst you fill Lestrade’s glass up again, and shift to face him better. 

You like your new appartment and really hope you won’t have to move again anytime soon. However, being the favourite representative of a big international firm has its disadvantages, too. You could be sent to Africa next month until further notice. The money’s good, but you don’t get to spend it like you’d want to. Well, no point in thinking about that now.

Greg takes a sip of wine, then smiles again and takes your hand. Oh, how you’ve missed his hands! Always the one constant thing about him – slightly meaty, calloused fingers, and a broad, warm palm. You pinch back a little and, for now, all is as it should be. Just like it was, all those years ago. You allow yourself to revel in the companionship, to forget that there will be a tomorrow. Another day filled with duties and grown-up stuff. For the moment, you’re both seventeen again, secretly smoking in your Dad’s backyard and telling each other tall stories. Your friend must be thinking on old memories as well, because for the first time in years, his face looks completely carefree, a small smile playing on his lips.

Then he sighs and the moment is gone. He looks around the room and covers his mouth when he yawns.

‘Weren’t you going to tell me about your job?’ he asks, and winks.

You answer with a smirk of your own, and remember the line you stole from another friend years ago.

‘Boring, overrated and _definitely_ overpaid.’ 

Greg laughs and finishes his wine, then gets up and stretches. Yes, he’s definitely put on some weight since last you saw him, but the little bit of pudge suits him just fine. You get up as well, put your glass on the coffeetable and follow suit as he walks over to where he left his shoes. Funny little quirk of his – he _must_ take off his shoes when on a social call. Probably contrary to “business”. You’ve stopped wondering about his weird habits – even the ones that used to annoy the hell out of you, now seem adorable and familiar. 

He puts on his shoes and his back creaks when he unbends – do _you_ look just as old to _him?_

‘I’m sorry I didn’t stay longer. But we could have dinner sometime?’ 

You smile.

‘It’s a date, if you promise to let me pay.’ 

He nods solemnly. 

You know he won’t – he never does – but you pretend to believe him as you peck his stubby cheek lightly. Something sparks in the dim hallway – you think you’re seeing things, but when Greg shakes your hand, you remember. So many things you had repressed, put away in an inaccessible mind-folder, never to think of again. It’s been... what, twenty years now? It hadn’t been the time, nor the place, back then. You hadn’t been the one, neither had he. You thought you’d let it go, but here it is again. You smile warmly, open the door and watch your best friend walk to his car. Then you close the door, lean you back against it and breathe out. 

You tell yourself you’re just tired, that it doesn’t matter and all shall go back to normal in the morning. But Greg’s ringless fingers keep haunting you, even in your sleep. You forget the dream in the morning, but not the way it made you feel. Safe. Secure. At home.


	2. Chapter 2

A week goes by. Neither of you has called the other yet. You’re swamped in work and, according to the news, so is Greg. You hold the phone in your hands a couple of times, hovering your thumb over his name. Then you “remember” something you need to do, and put it away.

He calls you on Saturday. God, you’re delighted to hear his warm voice again! He asks you if you’ve got time to meet that weekend. You chicken out and lie about an “urgent project”. You hear disappointment through his smile. Then spend all weekend cursing yourself and wondering what on Earth’s gotten into you.

When he calls you a week later, you’re genuinely ill. You apologise, but make up for it with a long talk about your embarrassing youths – until you lose your voice entirely. You’ve asked him not to come round for fear of infection. You almost believe it yourself.

You finally get your courage (and voice) together and call Greg the weekend after that. He’s busy, but happy to hear from you again. The tiredness you’ve noticed seeping into his voice every now and then is there to stay, so it would seem. You give in and make a dinner-appointment for the next day. 

You hope for the best, but are somehow not convinced all _shall_ be well. Then again, it’s a mite too late to worry about that, two hours before you leave the house.


	3. Chapter 3

He picked a nice, cosy restaurant – he does that – and all you have to do is sit back and enjoy the good food and relaxed conversation. You actually talk this time: work, friends, health. He’s got a bad back from all the sitting behind a desk, you’ve got youw own ailments, but overal, everything is fine. You _are_ both English, after all. 

His smile is warm and congenial, and you feel yourself grin like an idiot. Somehow, that sparks his smile into higher gear, and it doesn’t take long before you both are laughing maniacally, bothering other customers and not giving a damn. Because this right here, those few stolen hours, are what you live for. Nevermind work. Forget nagging family and unfaithful friends. The world could end and you’d barely notice. Being with Greg makes up for so much – it terrifies you how good he makes you feel.

You’ve not felt such warmth in a year, and you were in Hawaii the whole time. None of your other friends or even past lovers have ever given you such a comfortable feeling. But it does not do to think of him thusly, so you ban all reminiscences and smile at his grumbling. You know it’s just his way to deal – you’ve rarely met kinder people than Gregory Lestrade. You’ve always wondered how he could lead a team, let alone maintain the law. A true paradox, this one.

You feel the evening coming to a close. It doesn’t make you sad – you’re confident you’ll have many more evenings like this. Maybe in a month, or two years – you always get pulled to each other. Like magnets. Or gravity. Or, perhaps, it’s just plain curiosity. You are two very different creatures and you’ve stumped Greg often enough to know he thinks of you in the same way as you view him. Like a mystery, an unsolvable puzzle of sorts. But never boring. Never that.

He drives you home. The silence in the car is comfortable. He walks you to your door, gentlemanly as ever, and there is a shine in his eyes when he kisses your hand jokingly. You probably should not drink so much wine anymore, you’re imagining things. You thank each other for the lovely evening and there is a spring in his step when he walks to his car. Now you’re definitely imagining things. 

Your bed seems lonelier than ever when you finally go to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Your boss is calling. He’s still in America, so he probably doesn’t even know he’s waking you up in the middle of the night.

‘Yes?’ you splutter. 

You’re not awake enough yet to feel full-blown panic, but cold dread is definitely seeping into your stomach now. No! Not again! Not now! But you’ve got no choice, so you sigh and agree. 

You don’t go back to sleep, lying awake staring at the dark ceiling all night. When dawn comes, you’re exhausted. 

All day, you’re looking and feeling like a zombie. You can’t eat, you definitely can’t sit still, but are too tired to do anything; in the end, you just walk aimlessly around the flat, doing small chores and trying to keep your brain numb. 

You’ve finished your curry and are flicking through TV-channels when the doorbell rings. You frown and walk to the door uncertainly. The eyelet provides a distorted view of a tired face under a mop of slightly toussled silver hair, and you stomach makes a salto around your fluttering heart. It’s been a while since he’s surprised you, and it definitely wakes you up. You open the door and smile. He seems flustered.

‘I... hello, I... just wanted to see if you were in. It’s okay if...’ 

Your smile fills out and you open the door wider. He chuckles and comes in. 

 

‘Australia?’ he asks, corners of his mouth slack and right foot kicking the underside of the coffeetable softly.

‘Australia,’ you confirm, chest clenching just a bit tighter.

‘How long?’

‘I don’t...’ He looks at you expectantly, and you sigh. ‘At least six months.’ 

He nods, not succeeding entirely in hiding his disappointment. You’re both silent, the only sounds in the room coming from the muted television and the continuing kicking of the coffeetable. 

‘Gr...’ – ‘An...’

‘Oh. You go first.’

‘No, no, it’s okay!’ He smiles at you awkwardly. ‘Ladies first.’ 

Coming from anybody else, this would make you want to punch them in the nose, but you know he means well. You look down at your hands and sigh. Again.

‘I don’t want to go,’ you hear yourself say.

You look at Greg in surprise, and he’s staring back in wonder. You taste the words, roll them around in your mouth. Yes, they feel right. You repeat them louder.

‘I don’t want to go.’

All tension in the room dissipates. Greg is still looking at you incredulously, as you grin and get up. You turn the TV off and go to the kitchen to put the kettle on. When you come back, he’s still looking bamboozled and frowning. You smile at your friend and, feeling completely free and light as a feather, you hop to your knees onto the couch next to him. 

‘I’m not going to Australia. I don’t want to go to Australia!’ you coo happily. ‘Well, I do want to go to Australia eventually, but not because I have to.’

‘Anni, are you alright?’ he asks worriedly, probably reckoning that you are having some kind of a seizure. Possibly an aneurysm.

You know you are over-reacting a little, but you have not felt this good in years, and the sleepless night is not helping to keep your mood stable. Still, you try to pull yourself together long enough to bundle your thoughts and pour them into words. He waits patiently.

‘I don’t want to have a job that makes me miserable, because I have to leave every time. I want to be here. Home. With... friends and family. I can do without a job for a while, and I just... I’m done.’

You smile again, less manic. Greg eyes you sceptically once, then bursts out laughing and hugs you. You’ve not expected that, and you fall on top of him clumsily, but it doesn’t matter. You hug, and you laugh, and you hug some more until you’re both breathless and he lets go of you, still shaking and giggling. You get off his lap and go to the kitchen. The kettle is demanding attention – you should really buy an electric one – and you feel like having tea. With _all_ the Jammie Dodgers.

You’re watching the first DVD you pulled out of the cupboard together, drinking tea and generally feeling fine. Greg asks if it’s okay if he stays a while longer. He doesn’t say it, but you think about how lonely his flat must be, and you tell him he can stay as long as he wants. He smiles at you, thinking you mean this evening, but his face grows earnest when he recognises your “serious” face. You don’t say anything, just watch with growing apprehension as a myriad of thoughts and emotions cross his face. He doesn’t utter any of them, but he doesn’t need to. You know him well enough to recognise every single one. 

He looks away and your heart falls. You put on a tight smile. You know it looks almost real, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way. You nudge his shoulder playfully, ignoring the sting in your chest, and he looks at you.

‘It’s okay,’ you say.

‘I know it’s okay, Anni.’

There is a note in his voice you don’t recognise. You’re not sure whether to be worried or intrigued by this new development, but before you can decide which, his face is so close, you almost forget to breathe. His eyes search yours for... something. Approval? A spark? The meaning of life? No. No, he’s looking for you. The old you, the you that would have jumped into a freezing river to save a child. Or drive all the way to Sheffield during finals to see your favourite band. You’re wondering yourself is she’s still there, and anxiety rises in your throat once again. 

He smiles. Not just a smirk, or a small smile. No. You see before you, once again, the twenty-something cad he had once been. He’s not changed, and neither have you. Nothing has changed, except the time. And the time is right, now. And so are you both. The realisation of what that means hits you hard and your eyes widen in surprise. Greg finally sees understanding in your eyes, and puts his arm around your shoulder gently. The kiss is not that of teenagers in heat – there is no urgency, no untamed passion – but it’s perfect. It’s tender, and it’s loving, and the occassional slide of tongue definitely sends some electricity downward. 

You can’t remember how you got to your bedroom, but you don’t care. Your bodies and minds finally fit perfectly together. It feels like, over the years, you’ve developped into two pieces of puzzle that make up one whole. Like magic; or destiny. But this is more, and you’ve somehow always known it. This is love.


End file.
